Garth Luetkemeier
Operation
The theatre was immaculate. No shadows
doubted what the light concealed.
Instruments laid out, the hieroglyphs
of infallibility. The needle
so innocuous in repose, you never thought
it could fill you with such a vast, dark blank,
what had been a miracle in no time
nothing. How did they dispose of it?
Flush nothing away and it remains.
Burn it and nothing is consumed.
Bless it, as you might do bread and wine,
and we’ll be filled with ever greater hunger.
All that space inside us, yet nowhere
to put that tiny nothing, nestling.
Page(s) 56
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- Thumbscrew
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